


Jazbay

by zeuswrites



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeuswrites/pseuds/zeuswrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short stories about an unlikely Dragonborn and his assorted friends and family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. O brother, why art thou

None of the passer-bys took interst in the two girls giggling and skipping under the walls as if trying their damnedest to look like they were up for some mischief. It was a beautiful summer evening; soon the street lamps would be lit, but for now, the still-pink sky was not enough to light the quiet side-street. Nobody was in the mood to chastise youngsters for goofing around .

The girls passed a tavern full of patrons, with several tables taking up a sizeable chunk of the streets. They shushed each other and flattened themselves against a wall, making obnoxious  _nothing to see here, officer!_  faces at passing guards, the elf tugging the other girl into a small side-alley between two townhouses, where she pressed her back against the wall to pull her friend into a kiss.

 

Carlotta giggled, pressing her chest against Jarrin’s, their fingers still entwined. “You’re sure your parents are out?” she whispered breathily.

"They go out every Friday evening. They’ll be gone at least until midnight." Jarrin pinched the soft flesh on Carlotta’s hips, then winced. "Of course, my  _brother_  will be there.” Carlotta winced back in sympathy. “Don’t worry, I will kick him out. Gods know the milk-drinker needs some fresh air.”

Carlotta giggled again, letting Jarrin grab her hand again and guide her towards her house. They were already grabbing at each other on the stairs, only stopping for a moment as Jarrin banged on the door of the room she shared with her twin.

"Jazbay! You’re going for a walk!" she shouted through the door, the sentence trailing off at the end as her fist touched the door.

The smooth wood was  _warm._

"Jazbay?" she called again, this time more cautiously. "What did mom say about magic in our room?"

She exchanged nervous looks with Carlotta, rolling her shoulders and shifting from foot to foot, then pushed the door. And she froze.

The flame atronach looked up from the unconscious Jazbay she was holding by the shirt, directing her not-eyes at the girls. A part of Jarrin screamed at her to  _run, get help,_ and another part wanted to lunge forward and tear her brother out of that monsters hands - was he breathing? His head was hanging lifelessly and his mouth was open, and it hit her just how  _small_  he was, as if he weighed nothing - but her body kept her in place even as Carlotta’s shrieks were too far out of the house for her to hear. 

The atronach carelessly threw Jazbay at the wall, floating leisurely toward Jarrin, and this time the girl moved. She bolted down the stairs, spinning around the railing post, to grab her training shield lying on the kitchen table where she left it earlier that day. Before the atronach descended downstairs, Jarrin had the shield on her arm, an ice spell ready in her left hand.

She half-crouched, waiting, and as the daedra raised its hand to swat at her, she lunged forward and bashed, throwing it off-balance. She didn’t give it  time to compose itself; she bashed again, sending the daedra flying back, and again, until it was against the wall, scorching the stone.

Jarrin bashed her again for good measure, then pressed the shield against its chest to keep it in place. But before she could shoot an ice spike right into its face, the daedra pushed against her with ease and backhanded the girl, sending her flying to the floor with a clatter of the shield. 

Jarrin crawled backwards, looking up at her certain death.  _If I see Jazbay on the other side,_ she thought, _I am going to spend my afterlife beating him senseless._

"J-Jarrin!" speaking of Jazbay, he was at least alive. He stumbled down the stairs, holding one hand against his forehead, reaching out with the other in a calming gesture. "Don’t move, I’ve got it under control!"

"Under control?" she screamed. "It’s an unbound daedra, you goat-fucking idiot!" The atronach turned around towards her summoner with obvious irritation. Jazbay put up a ward just in the nick of time to dispel a ball of fire.

"Okay, I don’t", he admitted. "Flank her!"

Jarrin jumped back to her feet, shielding herself. Jazbay kept the ward up, slowly walking sideways, both of them circling the demon. It looked back and forth between them, thinking about which of them to roast first, and as it looked at Jazbay, Jarrin lunged again. The careless swat of the Atronach’s hand - so it wasn’t an idiot, hooray, there went their entire line of defense - made her twirl in the air like a paper toy, but it gave Jazbay time to attack. 

He never got the hang of Destruction like Jarrin did, but an ice spike was an ice spike. He shot the atronach through the chest, and even as the daedra screamed soundlessly, Jarrin felt the warm tingle of a healing spell on herself. It was enough to get her to clamber back up. She discarded the shield - the iron was getting too hot - and shot ice with both hands, spiking the places that would hold eyes on a mortal. The daedra finally died, falling to the floor with the clatter that reminded her of wooden dishes. 

She straightened her back, releasing what felt like ten minutes of held-back air, and met Jazbay’s terrified eyes. “Down!” he screamed, lunging forward and tackling her to the floor, curling around her and twisting himself to put his hands above them. A second later, as a small but nasty-looking explosion slid over their ward and threw every cabinet and basket in the room open, Jarrin saw why.

They stayed on the ground for a moment. It was suddenly so quiet in the house, save for the clatter of a round sugar pot rolling around on the floor. Jarrin’s body buzzed with adrenaline. They took down a Flame Atronach. Her brother  _summoned_  a Flame Atronach. If she wasn’t so furious at him, she would have been impressed.

"Stop right there, daedric scum!" a guard kicked the door down, making them both jump up and scream. Took them long enough, Jarrin thought. How long could have the fight lasted? Now that she thought about it, it couldn’t have been more than two minutes. It had felt like an eternity to her.

Carlotta peeked nervously through the doorway, eyes round like septims, scanning the room for Jarrin. Both incomers’ jaws hung open as they saw the smoldering husk on the ground. The twins clambered to their feet, Jarrin nearly kicking her brother off of her.

"Everything is under control", Jazbay announced, straightening up and putting his hands on his hips. "Just a small, ah- a small miscalculation. We’re both fine, though, and there was nobody else in the house, so, as you can see, it’s not necessary… hi, Carlotta" he waved briefly at the girl, who in turn flipped him a decidedly less friendly gesture. 

Jarrin, finally free to take in the mayhem, looked around the kitchen in stupor. She did not see it while they were fighting for dear life, but the wooden furniture was smoldering; several goblets and her mother’s prized glass bowl were lying on the ground in pieces. The slab of venison father had set on the table was cooked on one side from when the atronach passed by it. Jazbay’s shirt had a hole burned through it where the daedra grasped him, revealing his awful pasty chest, and the burns on it didn’t make it any less nasty to look at, that’s for sure. She touched her own face with sudden alarm. She couldn’t feel any eyebrows on it.

"Who summons an Atronach inside a house? And why didn’t you ward it, idiot?" The guard snapped.

"I did!" Jazbay shouted indignantly, puffing his chest up, blatantly offended by being questioned by an adult about the logistics of summoning a murderous fiery monster without supervision. Jarrin counted to ten, trying to breathe evenly. "But I attacked it."

"YOU attacked IT?" Jarrin immediately forgot about being calm. "Why!?"

"Because I needed Fire Salts", Jazbay said with a _duh_ voice, scowling at her. Jarrin stared at him for precisely three seconds, then swung him in the stomach with all the strenght of a well-fed shield user. She turned away from her brother as he crumpled like a piece of paper and toppled ot the ground making small choked-up sounds. The guard had gone upstairs during that exchange, probably to see if her insane brother didn’t have any people held in cages for experiments under his bed or something. An entirely fair idea, if you asked her.

“ _You_  explain this to mother and father when they come back”, she shot over her shoulder, then stepped out of the house, letting Carlotta sling an arm around her waist as they walked away. An idea sprung into her mind right before they were out of earshot, and she twisted her waist to yell back. “And tell them that I want my own room!”


	2. Accidents happen

"Absolutely not", Jenassa sneered. Erik and Jazbay looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously, then left her alone to grope her knives in the shade.

"We need about eighty pieces, I think? We should be done before tomorrow. Unless you guys want to sleep" Jazbay said, rolling up his sleeves and reaching for the axe. Erik shrugged, setting a log on the tree stump for him, then backing away a bit as Jazbay took a swing, cleaving the log in half.

"That’s how I fed myself when I first came to Skyrim, you know. Day after day of chopping wood for Hulda." Jazbay chopped the next log with a grunt, and stood aside, swaying a bit under the weight of the axe as Erik collected the firewood to carry it to the designated pile place. "The hagraven never gave me a septim of a discount, too."

"I will let her know of your grateful disposition" Jenassa called from under the tree.

"No, don’t!"

"I’ve heard her complaining that she had never had a worse tenant", Jenassa said at Erik passing her with the armful of firewood. He chuckled a little. "Practicing spells in his room, or, worse, shooting them at guests from the balcony." To this, Erik barked a short laugh, and Jenassa stretched her legs, grinning. "Seen her whacking him with a broom up the head one day. Half the town did."

“ _Please_  don’t tell her I said that. She’s got arms like a blacksmith.”

"Shut up back there!" the guard finally snapped, and Jazbay and Erik waved apologetically. 

Jenassa snorted and went back to polishing her sword, and Erik and Jazbay sped up their work, Erik picking up a second axe himself, though not before brushing Jazbay’s hair out of his face and behind his ear.  _Absolutely disgusting_ , Jenassa concluded fondly.The guard’s scowl didn’t ease up. Then again…

Jenassa looked at the ruin of the storage hut, and shook her head. In a Nord settlement, the elf would be flogged instantly, best case scenario. They were lucky that he leveled something in an Orc stronghold, and that the Chief was laughing too hard to order his people to kill them before Jazbay started apologizing.

Well, technically, it was the mammoth's fault. Technically. It was a long story. 


	3. Maybe Potema was just mad she wasn't invited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowds are AWFUL

"That’s… that looks like half of Skyrim is here."

"No, but it is most of Haafingar", Jenassa corrected.

"I thought the Burning of King Olaf wasn’t going to happen this year", Erik shouted over the noise, looking around and standing firmly behind Jazbay. People were still flowing into the city, bumping into them and shoving them forward, even though Solitude looked like its stone walls were ready to burst into pieces like a dress on a werewolf. "We’re lucky. I have only been to one when I was a boy. It’s drinking and reverie and performances well into the night…" Erik turned his eyes back on Jazbay, and his smile waned a little. "Er… not your thing, I suppose."

"My thing or not, how will we find Firebeard in this rabble?" 

"I think you need to learn to appreciate downtime every now and then, friend. You are too young to be such a grouch. Did you know there’s free wine? A lot of it?"

Jazbay nodded with a smile, and carefully took a step into the jam-packed city. “I’ll meet you guys outside the gates in the evening, then. Have fun. Excuse me, excuse me—”

"Wait! I’ll go with you!" Erik yelled after him, but Jazbay already disappeared into the crowd.

He had trouble avoiding elbows and wine flying in the air in equal amounts, trying his damnedest to get his short frame through the wall of people. He took note of the birch-bark crowns many people were wearing, and shot a glance towards the stalls lining the walls near the gates- he saw one selling one-eyed, wooden dolls, and another - sweets, before the crowd swallowed him up. It would have been quite a nice celebration, he guessed, if about nine of ten people would go away.

The further he got into the crowd, though, the less family-friendly the festival seemed; fourty steps into Solitude, there were no more parents with children or elderly people. Deeper in the city, the crowd was sweaty and restless.

He wondered what was in that free wine that everyone seemed to have had at least a tankard of. He had been to celebrations such as these - when he couldn’t avoid it - but this one felt… different. People were laughing way too loud, a song belted out from the crowd would get picked up by the nearby people at once, and the faces that whirred past him had an ill, desperate glint in her eyes. With the threat of war and dragons, they were eager to lose themselves in song and wine.  _Tonight, they will drink til they drop._

He gritted his teeth and pressed on. At this moment, he was looking forward to squeezing himself out of the damned wall of people and having a dance with Potema. He would take a good fight over a screaming crowd any day.

He was halfway to the Blue Palace now, and had a decent view of the Bard’s College raft. It was filled to the brim with flowers, colorful ribbons draped tastefully to keep them in place. The bards were wearing colorful finery and garlands, and were hacking away at their poor instruments with gusto. He was close enough that he could hear the words of the song (and, with relief, realized it wasn’t “Ragnar The Red” for once). The blazing mannequin of King Olaf was hoisted up on a pole in the middle of the raft. The only person on it who didn’t have an instrument, a portly Orsimer with flowers braided into her hair, must have been a mage, tasked with making sure a stray spark doesn’t make the performance too grand. She looked like she wished to be anywhere else but there, at the epicenter of the noise.

_"O, Olaf, our subjugator, the one-eyed betrayer;_

_death-dealing demon and dragon-killing King._

_Your legend is lies, lurid and false;_

_your cunning capture of Numinex, a con for the ages. “_

It was with a curse on his lips that he saw another raft rolling behind this one, with Jarl Elifis and her court on it. She looked fair indeed, in a fur-trimmed dress and with a golden circlet in her hair, smiling at the people. Sybille Stentor, on the other hand, emanated boredom from sixty yards away. And, The Eight damn it, Firebeard was there as well, looking stiff and uncomfortable, his head darting from side to side. Jazbay wondered if it would be possible to get close enough to the raft to discreetly wave him over. He did not know how long the Jarl’s entourage would stay on the streets, and he did not know if they could afford to wait all night.

He lodged himself between a dishevelled Altmer woman and a beggar with a flower crown on his ratty cap. He looked back at them, and their hands were already on each other again two seconds later. He wasn’t sure if they registered the interruption. He heard a scream of pain somwhere to his left, instantly drowned out with laughter and song. A man in a paper mask with only one eye hole jumped in front of him all of a sudden, darting his face towards Jazbay like he was going to kiss him or hit him, then vanished into the crowd. Jazbay firmly pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to breathe slowly.

There was a wall of people closing in on him, spinning around him, scraps of conversation hitting his ears. Hands were darting around for purses and body parts, and he saw a woman laugh maniacally, wine spilled down her dress, a drooling man pawing at her waist.

_One more! One more!_

_Wish my husband was here to see—_

_—won’t get away with this—_

_I haven’t seen you in years!_

_—tonight, the light will go off—_

"Excuse me" he said through his teeth, pressing ahead, trying to ignore his instincts. They were used to caves and forests, and small towns, not  _this,_  and they were making him—

“ _Excuse_  me!” someone grabbed him by the waist and twirled him around with a holler. He only saw their red, grinning face for a split second before he backhanded it, hard enough for the metal on his gauntlets to leave gashes.

“ _Let me—_ " someone, maybe the person he hit, grabbed the back of his head and pushed brutally, making him fall to the ground, right under the crowd’s milling feet.

The explosion of green light tore through the mob, and suddenly, it was quiet enough to hear the crackling of the burning mannequin.

Jazbay scrambled to his feet and looked around, dusting off his clothes. The crowd stood idly, everyone looking at him without a word. He squared his shoulders and turned around; the raft had been close enough that the bards were hit as well - small blessings - and one woman’s fingers were still running idly over the string of her lute without producing a sound. People outside the spell’s range were stopping, too, confused and afraid. More than one guard had his crossbow raised and centered on him. Having made himself the center of attention, he had no choice but to pretend it was intentional.

He raised his chin and straightened his back, then walked ahead, the crowd silently splitting itself to make way for him, everyone’s eyes following him as he walked. He felt his face burning, and he counted his steps to keep himself from stumbling and making an even bigger spectacle.  _Just once,_ he thought bitterly, _just once I would like to not make a fool out of myself._

"That was the rudest thing I have ever seen", one of the bards said leisurely behind him. "I am absolutely flabbergasted."

"What rhymes with  _flabbergasted_?”, another asked.

He approached the queen’s raft, several guards stepping forward with their shields up. Elisif looked shocked and upset, fiddling with her necklace and glancing back between Falk and Bolgeir to see how she should react. Sybille Stentor had her arms crossed. Falk was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Your highness" Jazbay bowed to Elisif. "I apologize for the interruption, but I need to speak with Falk Firebeard, urgently."

"You may approach", she said weakly. The guards hesitantly stepped away, allowing the elf to pass. "Master Viarmo, if you could please continue?" she said, louder, and the Bards slowly picked up their instruments, producing a very soft and even-toned version of "The Age of Aggression" for the nervous crowd. But people were whispering between each other, and slowly leaving the streets. The celebraiton was dead.

"Gorgeous spell", Sybille said, not looking at him, as he walked past her. "Who was your teacher?"

"Bandits and assassins, mostly", he muttered back, and she smirked, still overlooking the crowd.

"I was hoping you would be discreet”, Falk mumbled at him from behind the hand covering his mouth. “We were trying  _not_  to raise panic.”

 ———-

"Well, that was very  _just a modest boy from Cyrodiil trying to make a living_  of him, wasn’t it?” Jenassa huffed, shoving a very relaxed baker out of the way to get a better look. “Look at him, pretending he meant to do that. Sometimes, I wonder which god it was that cursed him at birth.”

Erik looked after the figure walking confidently towards the Blue Palace, the crowd parting sliently before him. “It looks just  _right_ , doesn’t it?”, he said earnestly, and Jenassa groaned into her wine.


	4. The sea wishes to be left out of this mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Empire loves its damn paperwork.

"I’ve been looking for you! I’ve got a letter for you, looks official. That’s about it. Gotta go!"

The courier made off the ship before Jarrin opened her mouth.  _Skittery lot_ , she thought with amusement, stepping off the crate from which she could reach the knots she just untangled, bunching up the heavy, worn-out rope in her hands. She threw it on the deck floor and sat down, with one leg hanging, as the new cabin boy scuttered to dispose of the coil, and she made herself a mental note to let the Captain know how he was faring; she had been sure that the boy would be a load, but so far he was nothing but diligent. 

She frowned, flipping the envelope in her hands. It had the imperial sigil stamped on it. Had she done any business with the military? If it was about a shipping contract, why would she be contancted, not the Captain? She certainly didn’t remember committing any crimes. But even then, the letter made her nervous. 

There was a small shape jutting under the paper. Curious, she ripped the envelope open and upturned it, and caught a small, round, silver earring that dropped out of it. She grinned, suddenly remembering a heavy-browed Imperial officer, with jewellery flickering through flaxen hair, whose nails left red marks on Jarrin’s shoulders that wouldn’t fade days after the  _Copper Queen_  left the port.

"Noooo", she gasped in mock indignation.  _Using official military stationery to send a memento of a fling? And they say romance is dead._

She twirled the earring in her fingers, and opened the letter, face split by a wide grin.

_Citizen Jarrin of Imperial City,_   
_I write to you with sincere regret to inform you, on the behalf of the Imperial Office of Falkreath, that your next of kin, Jazbay, citizen of Bruma, has been found guilty_

"No", she laughed. She must have blacked out for a moment, and her mind played a trick on her eyes. She went back to the beginning of the letter.

_Citizen Jarrin _of Imperial City_ ,_   
_I write to you with sincere regret to inform you_

“ _No_ ”, she giggled through clenched teeth. Something trickled down her forehead, and she raised a trembling hand to swat at it.

_on the behalf of the Imperial Office of Falkreath, that your next of kin, Jazbay, citizen of Bruma, has been found guilty of illegal border-crossing into territories of Stormcloak rebellion, and treason. At Imperial Legate Skulnar’s lawful orders, he has been sentenced to death by beheading on 17th of Last Seed of 204 of Fourth Era._

"No!" she screamed at the letter, like she could scare it into redacting itself. Drops of sweat dripped at the paper, and she felt clammy and cold.

"Kyne, girl, what’s gotten into ye?!", someone next to her demanded. She violently shook off a pair of hands trying to steady her shoulders and read it over and over.

_has been sentenced to death_   
_has been sentenced to death_   
_has been sentenced to death_

She lurched from the crate, grabbing her head, barely registering the crew now clustered around her. The earring, still in her hand, was pressing into her cheek, and she slowly curled her fingers around it and raised it to her eyes.  _I completely forgot_ , she thought calmly.

She mocked him relentlessly when he first got it, and he stopped wearing it several days after getting his ear pierced. Shame he apparently went back to wearing it after moving out; she had been just looking after his best interest. He looked  _ridiculous_ with it.

She paced several steps, then stopped in her tracks, inhaling sharply through her fingers, eyes locked on the horizon. She turned around, scanning the gathering for her superior.

"Captain, I would like to take the rest of the day off". Captain Swift-Steer nodded solemnly, then started hollering at the rest of the crew to get back to work, letting Jarrin pick up the letter off the floor and make her way off the ship. Anyone else asked for leave an hour after arriving at a port, they wouldn’t be let back aboard, but the Captain knew Jarrin to be a relentless worker, reliable like the stars themselves, and apparently trusted her that she didn't request it frivolously. Jarrin expected the old woman to offer her a drink and an ear that evening.

She read the beginning again, because maybe,  _maybe_ it would make more sense. It still told her her twin was dead. The rest of the letter was curt, letting her know who to contact to request the return of the other equipment found on him -  _you “find” things on dead men, you bastards. On living ones, it’s called_  robbing - and a dry apology, signed with a swirly scrawl of some nobody she never heard of.

_Sorry we killed your other half. Lawfully._

She found herself walking along the shore, past massive trading ships and smaller fishing boats, until there was nothing but clams and an occasional fox trotting alongside her. After that first, awful shock, a punch of fear and anger so violent that it physically hurt her, she found herself numb. She raised her hand and saw it shake, her limbs still feeling the shock when the brain gave up on it. She didn’t want to scream or cry. She wanted to think.

It had been two years since she last saw him. Four since they had a meaningful conversation. They’ve exchanged letters - every time she was on shore leave, she wrote him, and sometimes she even got a reply before it was time to go back aboard - polite, brutally short, falsely cheerful letters that she was so close to turning into long, bitter accusations.

_Greetings, brother. I arrived at Port Hunding today, and the weather is you selfish, uprooted snot, does your own blood mean nothing to you?_

The last time they saw each other, she shook his hand, and they stood for a moment in silence until she found an excuse to leave. This was the last time she remembered him, in a plain brown tunic, with choppy hair that he must have cut himself and an ever-jutting collarbone, and how  _polite_  he looked. She would have preferred to see hatred or anger than this wall of defensive agreeableness. He had detached himself from them so much he treated them as strangers.

_We were never good enough for you._ He was always staring into his books, always thinking, going off by himself to collect herbs. Her stupid brother, who was the most lonesome person she knew, but who shied away from people like a vampire from sunlight.How he tensed and prickled when he was made to, ye gods, talk during dinner, and how he always had a short, affirmative,  _polite_ way to escape a conversation. This politeness was his armor, his way of escaping everyone and avoiding the least of confrontations, closing his ears on anything that could be replied to with  _yes, of course_  or  _I’m really sorry_. Jarrin didn’t understand him. Their father didn’t understand him, and she wondered if Jazbay knew how much it pained him, and if it would have changed anything.  _It’s not that he ever questioned our love for him,_ she had decided long ago.  _He was questioning his own for us._  And did he not arrive at a conclusion when he packed his things and left?

There was something he always saw on the horizon, that consumed him and burned him up from the inside, and fuck if Jarrin knew what! Stupid, self-centered primadonna, who whined at her letting in light into their room and rolled his eyes at Father daring to ask him what he wants from his life, or mother wanting to see him married one day. So insufferable his family were in their  _existing._

"Whatever you wanted, you stick-necked troll shitsmear, I hope you damn well found it!" she said at a miserable tuft of grass to her left. "You sure showed us, moving to this cold ballsack of a backwater hamlet, and getting worked to death by a crusty old apothecary who didn't even try teaching you! Very _independent_  of you! What a lonely wolf you were!”

Her eyes pricked again, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing her thumb and forefinger over her tearducts. 

She had mourned the loss of her brother long ago, slowly, burning through it until it no longer hurt.

Today, she was mourning the hope of getting him back.

"I always thought there would be a good time."

She didn’t have the strenght to think of what “treason” might mean. She couldn’t think of what Jazbay of all people, her quiet, humorless brother who was afraid to say “no” to anyone, could have done to deserve this -  _I bet he poisoned a whole camp of soldiers by accident. No, I bet he set a daedra on their tents_ \- and she knew she would never learn. 

She pulled the letter out again as she idly kicked a pebble into the sea. The date at the top read 17th of Last Seed. They had him killed the very same day. She had dealt with soldiers, not the sort that broke up drunk fights in taverns; the sort that sailed up to your ship in the fog and threatened to find a shipment of skooma unless they're convinced not to search. “Treason” meant “we wanted them to shut up quick and forever”. He might as well have been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and done in as a witness. And now there would never be a right time for them.

She sighed and folded her hands over her stomach, letter pressed against her shirt. "I just wish you had given father a chance", she said. "He meant well for you. Whenever he wrote me, he asked me if I heard from you. True, he could write you himself, but then…" she laughed. "…you named  _me_  your first of kin. Men. Hopeless, all of you. Hope your pride fried on the pyre along with your stringy carcass.”

She rolled the earring in her fingers. She abruptly twisted her waist, raising a fist above her head, ready to throw the hoop into the sea, but she didn’t. She stood there, frozen, thougths running wildly through her head.

_He named me his next of kin. He resented us like we were dragging him down. Remember that camping trip, when it rained for two weeks straight, and I dropped snails in your shirt to pass the time? Old man Gallus said you were brilliant, a real talent, but sick in the head, to shut you in a temple. Mother, Father, me, we were so easy to cast aside! We had such small hands back when we still used to hold them. I never asked what it was you saw when you stared ahead, when you looked like a man I didn’t know._

She slowly lowered her hand and straightened her back. She slid the earring into her pocket. She wondered if she should keep it herself, or give it to their father. By the Eight, father… this was going to  _kill_  him. And she knew she had to write that letter.

One last inconvenience from good old Jaz.

"I’m sorry", she said desperately to the sea. "They say not to speak ill of the dead, but they say not to speak ill of kin, too, and you were such a crazy gnat. You drove me mad, drove us all mad. We drove you mad too, I assume."

"I miss you. I’ve always missed you. I want my brother back, the one I had when we were little. I’m never going to get you back now, and  _fuck_  whatever it was that took you away from us.”

"Was it my fault too? I could be harsh sometimes, I know. You were in my way so often. How I wanted to not be just a half. I hated how people always said our names in one breath, like we were a two-headed monster."

"Goodbye, brother. I wish I had said all of this sooner. Maybe you wouldn’t listen, but then at least I would know it was all on your daft head, and could murder you and hide your corpse with clear conscience." 

She stayed on the cold, empty shore a while longer, staring at the waves, before the cold wind became too much to bear. Then she turned back towards the city and started walking, small silver earring warm against her thigh.

 

\---------

 

"Livia, ye pock-marked idiot, where are the records for last year? I’m sure as hell not paying ye tae look pretty, so do yer damn job! Or’Baraz! This side up, it’s glass, ye inbred! JARRIN!"

"Cap’n!" Jarrin saluted, dropping off the ropes next to her captain, standing straight in a mock salute.

"Good job today, lass. I’m glad tae see ye doin’ so well, considering." Captain Swift-Steer patted Jarrin’s back harshly. The younger woman’s smile faltered. She appreciated her superior’s concern, but she barely managed to get herself back in the rythm of her work. She didn’t need a reminder of her loss right now. "Is there anythin’ else ye need done? Tae visit the temple?"

Jarrin shook her head. “I’m not very religious, and neither was Jazbay. I told my goodbyes to the sea, captain.”

"Good", the old crone said lightly, "or I’d fire yer keister for mopin’ on the job. Belryn! Pig-faced sodomite thinks I cannae see him PISSING ME MONEY AWAY, SLACKING ON THE JOB!" She banshee-screamed at the Dunmer, making him scramble into three directions at once: towards two different chores, and overboard, apparently. He ended up skittering in place for several seconds, the deciding to help with carrying crates into the lower deck. "Good lad. Daft, but strong. The letter ye sent today" she switched suddenly, waiting for Jarrin to finish the sentence.

"I had to tell our parents", Jarrin sighed. "I wish I wouldn’t. I am afraid of what it will do to my father. I think mother gave up, but he always held out hope that Jazbay migth come around one day. I worry he might never find peace now…" she sighed so deep that it almost hurt her lungs. "I sure hope I don’t get a letter telling me his heart blew up next time we dock."

"Yer a strong lass, Jarrin" the Captain said firmly. "And yer pa, he musta been a boulder for a chip of him tae be one as you." She put her hands on Jarrin’s shoulders and leaned in, making Jarrin discreetly start breathing through her mouth. "Ye will be fine."

"Thank you" Jarrin replied sincerely. "In time, I know I will find peace. But Jazbay was kin, estranged or not. If I could turn back time…"

"I’ve been looking for you! Got something I’m supposed to deliver."

They turned to blink at the courier leaning in towards them, jumping from foot too foot impatiently.

"We’re havin’ a moment here, knave!"

"Your eyes only", the courier said firmly, staring at Jarrin. "Fellow who sent it looked like an army ran over him. Looks like that’s it. Gotta go!" The last part was shouted already from the shore. _Do these people breed squirrels up their asses?_

Captain Swift-Steer opened her mouth to ask as Jarrin rasped and broke the seal with a loud crack, but instead ended up leaning in and reading over her shoulder.

   
 _29th of Last Seed 204 4E_

_Jarrin,_

_DO NOT TELL A WORD TO OUR PARENTS._

_I’m in trouble, in more than I’ve ever been. I don’t know how to explain it quickly, and I don’t know how much is safe to commit to paper._

_I’m in Skyrim. Whiterun, to be precise. I never planned on it, and it wasn’t a pleasant journey. I am sort of homeless, I suppose, but that’s the least of my problems. Don’t try sending me anything; I talked to people, and they say less than a third of packages go through the border without being filched by brigands or soldiers. Please don't worry about me. I'm getting by. The Nords are leery of elves, and it's blasted cold here, but there's something enchanting about this place. The plains around the city are beautiful, rich with herbs and insects, and when I am out there and close my eyes, the wind going through the grass sounds like an old friend. I think I would have stayed for a while if it wasn't so dangerous right now. And if the guards calling me a "little elf" didn't make my skin crawl._

_I don’t know when I will be able to go back to Cyrodiil. With the civil war's escalation, the border was closed to all, and the roads are crawling with bandits and wild animals. My only hope of returning home right now is to run an errand for the ruler of the hold, an errand that is most probably going to kill me. The healer at the temple of Kynareth advised me to write my will and to make peace with my kin; I have nothing of value for anyone to inherit, so I suppose that leaves me with the latter part._

_I miss you, Jarrin. You infuriate me, but I remember the way we used to be, before you started ~~shoving your fingers up every vagina in town~~   ~~talking about tits all the time~~_   _this apology is going great._

_Was it my fault? I know I could be ~~standoffish~~   ~~cold~~  standoffish, but you drove me mad. Guess I drove you mad too. For years I wanted to be more than just the uglier, less liked half of you. In Bruma, nobody knew you, nobody knew they were speaking to a shadow. I don’t know if my name was better for it, and I’ll most probably never learn. I still feel all these things, and I’m angry at you and myself, too, but sister, I want you to know that you are still important to me, for better or for worse. I’m also somewhat drunk, which is the worst time to write a letter, I suppose. Or best? I don't think I could say any of this sober._

_So, for what it's worth: I am sorry I am not the brother you wanted. I can't in good conscience say I ever could have been him. I am sorry, sister, but I don't think that man ever existed. I think our family is more complete without me in it, just Mother and Father and you. You are better off without me there, being a family-wide disappointment._

_There it is. I suppose those are all the last rites I get._

_DON’T TELL A WORD TO OUR PARENTS. I don’t want to have father die of a heart attack and, if I survive, haunt me for the rest of my life for not knowing how to imitate Mockingbird mating calls._  
   
 _Jazbay_  
   
"He sounds mite less… scholarly than I woulda imagined" Captain Swift-Steer said, stunned. "Lass, blessed be gods! Yer brother is alive! It’s a miracle!"

Jarrin stared at the letter, jaw hanging so low a nearby seagull started assessing it for a nest. Her Captain slapped her back and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, shaking her and laughing.  "Aren’t ye happy, lass?"

Jarrin turned her face towards her Captain, every muscle in it taut, and the old woman’s eyebrows shot up.

"Captain Swift-Steer, ma’am, I’m so sorry" Jarrin wailed. "But I need to take a day off!"

"We're leaving port, are ye ailin’ in the head—" but Jarrin already bolted off the ship, running in long strides down the street, cursing her brother’s empty head with every breath as she chased after a courier who had four hours of headway on her.


End file.
